Bizarro
by the EastEnder
Summary: Neal was known for his suave, charming self. He cons people, but he was compassionate enough for his own good, and thought of guns as repulsive objects. What if, after an incident, he developed traits that he once never had? Back for a job, will he go all in, even for a meet in the eye?
1. Chapter 1

**I'm giving the 'White Collar' series a darker twist, with a slight 'The Blacklist' crossover. Well, people will come over something at some point in their lives, so here's mine.**

**Be forewarned:**** This is a PROMPT, and it will get kinda out of character. But I tried my best to keep them intact. And it's an Alternate Universe, of course.**

**It's my first ever entry, so take it easy, people.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the WC & Blacklist characters. Serves purely for entertainment purposes.**

It is another Monday morning for the FBI White Collar unit. Agents pacing around, either with case files or coffee mugs in their hands; the occasional ringing on the telephone; and the low tone chatter between co-workers. All is a normal sight for Peter Burke, the team leader, who then turns to gaze out the window.

Something feels amiss. It always has been. Either it's his usual dose of Caffrey shenanigans, or it's that the cases are becoming more dull without his involvement. It's undeniable. Neal made everything interesting, for better or for worse. But after what happened .. Peter quickly shrugs it off before it ruins his Monday mood.

Just as he turns back to sit on his armchair, he catches a glimpse of two figures walking in fast, confident strides. A man and a woman, both wearing the same grave look on their faces, and both have met him in the eyes, but only for a brief minute.

"Said they want to meet you," Diana pokes her head into his office.

"You know what's this about?" Peter asks as he puts on his jacket. She shakes her head. "Conference room."

She then accommodates the pair into the conference room.

"Special Agent Peter Burke?" the man says as soon as Peter steps in. He then offers his hand. "I'm Assistant Director Harold Cooper of the Counter-Terrorist Tactical Force, and this is Agent Meera Malik of the CIA."

Peter takes his hand, going along with the pleasantries. "This is my probationary agent, Diana Berrigan."

"I understand that you've had a CI before," Cooper says as everyone seats themselves. Malik is busy setting up her laptop and stuffs.

"Yes, sir. Neal Caffrey. What about him?" Peter asks cautiously. What does the Counter-Terrorist and CIA wants from them, asking about Neal no less? Something's definitely off. It can't be good.

"He went AWOL recently, right? Heard of him lately?"

"Not to say recently, sir. It's been a few years since. So far we only have rumours and talks on the streets regarding him, but not directly from him, so I can't confirm on that. May I ask what this is about?"

Cooper nods to Malik, who then taps on her laptop, displaying things that every agent would see in a debrief. She begins to explicate, shuffling through more images of hard-copies and documents about sabotages, espionage, middleman.

Shit gets real as she mentions assassinations, and detainee extractions. Peter and Diana only nod their heads, unable to ask any relevant question or add on. Both of them share a look between themselves. _What the hell are these? The White Collar unit is kinda like the wrong person to ask. Plus, these allegations are serious. At least in Neal's defense. _

Just when things are about to get jumbled up due to confusion, the screen plays out a series of actual images of what seems to be CCTV shots and witnesses' recordings.

"Didn't make an attempt to cover up his face. He knows we can't close in on him through proper channels. Though he seems to be playing with the camera angles." All of them only contains a partial of whoever-it-is.

"If I may reiterate," Peter sighs exasperatedly. "What does all these have to do with us?"

Malik pauses a little to look at Cooper, who nods again in return.

"This is the only valid picture to ID him. It was taken 2 days ago here at New York City Park, from a tourist's phone camera. NYC is the closest he'd came to us. Though the majority of his operations are domestic, he's very elusive."

She goes on talking about it, but Peter and Diana aren't going to give a damn anymore. They are stunned. This whole thing is beyond belief.

It's Neal Caffrey.

**PLEASE tell me what you think. I've got some more interesting twist to add (in progress), but I need to know if there's someone looking forward to it. And if anyone has any suggestions, please, feel free to express it.**

**My apologies for any spelling, grammar, position/title mistakes. **


	2. Chapter 2

**First of all, thank you for all those who read this story, and for willing to make it to the 2nd chapter. For those who left me their words and follow this, I can't express my gratitude enough to you. **

**Particularly, one of the reviews that suggests on how this will go .. proof that your words got my grooves on.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the White Collar characters portrayed here. And the quotes in _Italic._**

Three soft taps of newspapers against the bench arm rest behind. Even within the depths of concentration, Mozzie manages to stop his reading. The rapping has a certain tempo to it, and consistent, not some random annoyed pat on the papers. Someone knows him, and wants to talk. Paranoia, which is hardwired into his system, starts to kick in. But Mozzie decides to hear this person out.

" '_Do you not find, that with your short sight it is a little trying to do so much typewriting?' _"

_" 'I did at first -' _ " comes the reply.

And familiarity strikes hard. Mozzie's eyes are wide.

" '_- but now I know where the letters are without looking' _. Reading in the open? Last time I checked, our names still have some standing on the Fed's wish list."

It takes Mozzie a while to respond, "And you're the hot item at the moment. Your unforeseen and unexpected comeback, if I may say, resurrection, got them rattled."

"Shall we?"

"Incongruous choice of wardrobe," Mozzie remarks after glancing at his companion's attire. " .. considering your usual preferences."

The two men are already set on their feet, slimming the chances of being seen_ together _at one place for too long. Walking brusquely, while remaining inconspicuous to the 'eyes of the street', they alternate between crowded sidewalks and isolated alleys. Names are not necessary except under extreme duress, as Mozzie had made clear during the recovery operation of the U-boat manifest Degas.

"You said so yourselves. I'm a household name in the Bureau lately, hence, here I am. Gonna need Tuesday to get some bulls-eye off my back."

"Oh? You remember her?"

"Come on now," Neal sighs exasperatedly. "Every minute I spend here brings them one step closer to me."

"You didn't know? Quelle surprise."

"Know what?"

"My bad. I should have told you. She won't be available at her previous settlement."

"Since when did Tuesday skipped town?"

"Since my chi is tainted by the bureaucratic oppression of the Suit, not to mention the heat he brought along."

"No one knew they've been there."

Mozzie becomes frantic. "Regardless, he broke my hallowed rake! You know I can't - "

"Alright then. Point taken." Neal stops him with a raise of his hand.

"Remind me to accommodate Suit and his unreliable posse into my least-favorite houses, should they ever need to be harbored again."

"Well then, anything nearby?"

"I shut down everything here in New York," his eyes travel down the ground, his feet shuffling its coarse pavement. "There's nothing left here for me, since .. you know .. the big bust and all."

Neal has gone silent as well. The last few years are still vivid in his mindset, now swiveling around in laps as much as his head can manage: a big fat mistake, running all the way to the East, surviving the harsh terrain ..

It was not so much as running away from the storm as seeking a temporary refuge due to the gravity of the situation. Hell, he would never have stayed, let alone die in vain, taking his tainted name with him 6 feet under for infinity.

...

"Bugsy, where are you?" June Ellington calls out for her pet Pug, which is nowhere to be seen. Normally he stays close to her, and he'll come back running whenever she summons him if he wanders away. But this is just odd.

June wanders around the big mansion, searching for the little butterball all by herself as the maid had taken leave for a few days.

_No wonder_, she thinks. The door is ajar. Fetching her overcoat, June is prepared to continue the search for the hound. He won't be too far. As soon as she's out of the door, the first thing that comes into sight is Bugsy, barking happily at her and tries to wiggle its short tail, after leaping down from someone else's arms.

"Hey June," that's a voice all too familiar to her to forget. "First things first, get indoors, shall we?"

"Namely, this is to be said as 'speak of the devil'," Mozzie chimes as the bolts on the door snap heavily into place. " .. but I can't see how's that relevant to our subject," and gestures towards June.

"Mozzie, you're not being very nice," she frowns, and can still hold motherly warmth in it. "Neal!" Her arms engulf him, emotionally overwhelmed that her eyes water up.

"Always great to see you. Again." He returns the embrace with equal grace.

"Likewise, my dear. Hm, you're bulkier than I remember," she remarks before breaking away. Only then, she gets better look at him. "Oh sweet Lord, are you okay?"

The considerably small scars here and there doesn't go unnoticed by June's quick searching eye. He smiles back warmly.

"Can't be helped. Occupational hazards," he shrugs.

"Well, be more careful then." June pats his shoulders.

"I'd hate to break this heartwarming reunion, but we have, in our hands, some urgent matters."

"Okay, Mozzie. I miss you too," she hugs him as well, considering the length of time that Mozzie is absent from her life as well. "Come, let's get you guys put up."

...

No one is allowed to say a word until Mozzie and his bug scanner are done sweeping the space. So far, this paranoid tendency of him has made the room some of the biggest and the best secret keeper ever. Looking back, some of the most special occasions had taken place at this very space, holding certain sentimental value to it.

"I'm sorry, Neal. Some of the pieces have been donated." The room looks bigger and emptier without the central table and chairs. There are also other things that are not in the view anymore, only sizes that made their absence not so significant in the first glance.

"But I still have your every belongings here. I don't have the heart to give those away."

"Thanks, June. I'll live." He runs his gaze all over the room again, taking notice of the vacant spot that once held the wine rack. Incidentally, about the same time when Mozzie remarks.

"The dark period of abstinence."

**That's it. Please tell me how you feel about it. **


End file.
